


Tennis, anyone?

by ko_writes



Series: Cabin Pressure Prompts [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Competitive, Douglas really isn't, Gen, Martin is great, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 20:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: The professional tennis season has started and I want to see our crew play tennis. <br/>It can be an AU in which they are pros/trainers/commentators/agents, etc. Could be that Herc sprung tickets for Wimbledon and decides to take Carolyn on a date. Maybe the hotel the crew is staying at has tennis courts, and everyone finds out that Douglas Richardson is bad at least one thing.</p><p> </p><p>Douglas is really bad at tennis, Martin is quite good; and some how the latter is the one who's the worse off for it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tennis, anyone?

   Martin loved tennis. It was his one hobby outside of aviation (and a little acting since he met Martin Davenport).

   His backhand might have been a little stronger than his forehand, but they were both strong. He owned his own racket, too.

   Sure, he only played by hitting one of his three tennis balls (bright pink, as they were on sale) against the wall of the student house. He didn’t feel right playing against them; they were younger than him and he didn’t want to bother them.

He was good at it. So, when Arthur and Carolyn suggested Pilots Vs Shappeys Doubles; Martin agreed so enthusiastically he almost fell off his chair. Douglas was hesitant, but still agreed.

   So now he was at the tennis courts; racket in hand, idly tossing it from hand to hand and flipping it like a baton. He practised his forehand swings as Carolyn and Arthur approached. Martin burst out laughing at the way Arthur was dressed.

   “Ar-Arthur… Wh-what are you wearing!” he giggled.

   “You know, what the professionals wear!” Arthur beamed.

   “Arthur, I follow tennis; if I saw anyone dressed like that, I’d remember it! Seriously, what made you buy all this? You don’t need it… Sorry.” Martin blushed, realising that it was a little cruel to laugh at Arthur like that.

   “ _You_ follow tennis, Martin?” Carolyn looked astonished.

   “I _do_ , actually. Now, Arthur; this kit will just make you warmer, let’s get some of it off. Firstly, I find sweatbands don’t work…” Arthur slipped the towel band off his forehead. “Good. Now, the wristbands aren’t needed unless you have a weak wrist –”

   “But you have one on, Skip!”

   “My left wrist _is_ weak, Arthur…” Martin smiled. Arthur slipped off the wristbands. “Finally, I’d take off you’re jacket; you’re going to get very warm…”

   When Arthur was sorted out, Martin grabbed his tennis ball and started his control exercises, bouncing it slightly on his racket, turning the racket 180° after each hit. Carolyn and Arthur looked impressed. “Oh, didn’t I mention? I play too,” Martin allowed a bit of smugness to creep into his expression.

   “Unless hell is opening an ice-rink – we don’t think we need to fear you!” Carolyn trash-talked, but Martin could hear the fondness in her tone.

   “Bring it!” He smirked. He didn’t do trash-talk; he let his skills speak for themselves.

~*~

   Half an hour late, Douglas suddenly appeared. Martin sighed; oh no. “Douglas, do you have weak wrists?” Martin could help sound like a strict head teacher.

   “No…”

   “Then take those off, you don’t need them.”

   “But you have –”

   “Let’s just play.”

~*~

   It seemed tennis was the one thing Douglas wasn’t good at. This made Martin smug and annoyed at the same time.

   His arms and legs move fluidly; graceful, elegant and precise. Douglas jerked and was rather clumsy. It was a strange role reversal.

   “Out!” he called as Arthur’s ball hit behind them.

   “Sorry mum!” Arthur apologised.

   Carolyn and Martin both had their game faces on; doomed be those who crossed them now. It was nine all and they agreed that next point won.

   A brief time out was called and Martin dragged Douglas off to talk strategies with him. “Don’t swing unless you have to. If it goes over your head, it’s probably out. Don’t swing if it’s in my reach, I will get it. Understood?” Douglas nodded dumbly. God, Martin was competitive.

   They were all back on the court. Carolyn served.

   It was going towards Martin, he was ready to hit when something very hard and distinctly racket shape came in contact, painfully, with his face.

   He dropped his racket and stumbled backwards, releasing every single one of his impressive vocabulary of curses.

   “I’m sorry, Martin!” Douglas apologised. Martin held a hand to his bloody nose.

   “I’m alright, I can still play!” Martin protested.

   “No, game over, it’s a draw,” Carolyn announced.

   Martin spluttered. “What? No! I can get you! We would have won if Douglas did what he was told!”

   “Martin; you are getting your face cleaned up and either going to a café with us or going to A&E, also with us. Douglas, put down that racket _very slowly_ , back away, and sort Martin out,” Carolyn ordered. Both pilots begrudging obeyed.

~*~

   “I am sorry Martin…” Douglas admitted, dabbing the blood off the captain’s face.

   “You should have listened to me!” Martin informed.

   “Yes.”

   “At least I got someone to play with on weekends, do you think Carolyn would be adverse to the idea?”

   “I’m sure she’ll be happy to beat you without relying on my awful tennis skills.”

   “And I get the cheese tray for two months…”

   “What?!”

   “You _did_ break my nose…”

   “It isn’t _actually_ broken.”

   “Still.”

   Douglas sighed. “Fine.”

   “Pleasure doing business with you.”

   “Let’s just go; you aren’t looking too terrible now. Carolyn says I owe you as much cake as you can eat…”

   Martin beamed. “You are about to see something pretty special.”

   Douglas got a bad feeling in the pit of his wallet.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! :)


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